


i wanna be king in your story, i want your hearts to beat for me

by mechup



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Boot Worship, Glove Kink, Just slightly, Other, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, also just slightly, boot kink, he/him pronouns for the Doctor, no one read this thanks, not smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechup/pseuds/mechup
Summary: He takes his not-so-rightful place at the throne, clothed in robes fit for a king.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 12





	i wanna be king in your story, i want your hearts to beat for me

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy

He takes his not-so-rightful place at the throne, clothed in robes fit for a king. 

It’s slightly less exciting than he thought it’d be but he can’t complain, because it’s always worth it to be an important ruler and have complete power over everyone. He does wish something would happen, because he’s _bored_ , but that’s very quick to change — the door slams open and four guards enter, dragging in someone along with them. 

The Master looks up as he senses motion in the doorway and the person being brought in lifts his head up to look him in the eye, defiance and anger painting his face completely. It’s obvious he’s surprised by who he sees on the throne but the Master, of course, is not surprised in the slightest to see his oldest friend.

The Doctor doesn’t know what he expected to find when he entered the main room of the castle, but it certainly wasn’t for the Master to be sprawled across the throne like he owns it. He offers him a smirk, the sound of metal being scraped echoing through the large room as he continues to lazily sharpen his knife. 

“We found him snooping around the castle,” one of the guards explains. “Where no one’s allowed to be after hours.”

The Doctor and the Master look at each other for a long moment, a mixture of stubborness and glee. The Master stares him down, and the Doctor inevitably gives in and glances away first. 

“Thank you, I’ll handle it from here,” he tells the guards, as if suddenly remembering they’re still here. He gestures vaguely towards the door. “You can all leave now.”

The Doctor doesn’t say anything or move, even after he and the Master are the only ones in the room, instead taking in the sight before him. The initial annoyance he feels over the Master having managed to surprise him with a disguise _once again_ (really, it’s getting old now) passes as he looks at him, eyes trailing from the crown at the top of his head, down to the velvet red cape around his shoulders, even further down to the sharp, fancy black boots on his feet. He’d never admit it out loud because the Master doesn’t need his ego stroked further than it already is, but the look suits him. 

“Are you going to just stand there all day, Doctor?” the Master asks, voice smug as the Doctor is snapped out of his trance. He quickly moves his gaze back to the Master’s face and pretends like he hadn’t just been openly staring. 

He regains his ability to speak and demands, “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” the Master retorts, a gloved hand running along the length of the knife and catching the Doctor’s attention. He has an air of ease to him, like he really is a king who belongs here on this throne. “I’m here to carry out an evil plan, gain worldwide domination... you know, the usual.” 

“If it’s the usual, then I think you’re forgetting the part where I stop you,” the Doctor comments. He might be desperately trying not to lose what little footing he has here, but he’s also not wrong; there’s been very few scenarios where the Master has won against him in the end. 

“Oh, my dear Doctor, you don’t even know what my plan is,” he says, sitting up straighter and beckoning him forward with the curl of a finger. “And besides, is that any way to talk to your king?”

“You’re not _my_ king,” the Doctor mumbles, but he moves closer at his request. “You’re not even these people’s king either, you’re just pretending to be.”

“And yet here I am, on the throne.” He watches as the Doctor stops a few feet away from him, and the way he looks at him can only be described as completely predatorial. The Doctor gets a vague sense that he’s about to be eaten for dinner but he doesn’t turn and run like he knows he should. He blames it on his stubbornness, the easy excuse that he’s only here to sabotage the Master’s plans. “But all right, it’s fine if you don’t want me to be your king. That doesn’t stop me from being your Master.”

He struggles to keep his face emotionless, trying not to relay to him that even now, even after all this time, he’s still completely his. The Master gestures for him to come even closer and he does, his feet moving before he realizes he’s obeying. 

“You may have all these villages under your control,” the Doctor says at the Master’s infuriating cocky smile, hoping the tremor in his voice isn’t obvious, “but you can’t control me. I won’t let you hypnotize me.”

“You think I need to hypnotize you to do that?” the Master asks, throwing his head back with an overly dramatic laugh. “I know you, I know what you want, and I always know how to control you.”

“You give yourself too much credit,” the Doctor says, but his words don’t have any heat in them because he _knows_ he’s right.

“Do I? Come here, Doctor.” He leans back, the perfect picture of power. The Doctor begins to step forward but he shakes his head. “No. On your knees. I want you to crawl.”

“What?” the Doctor asks, but the Master doesn’t repeat himself, merely watching him and waiting. The Doctor stares right back because he can’t do this, he _can’t_ do what the Master asks and prove him right, but he already finds himself sinking to his hands and knees. It’s so familiar, so _easy_ for him to fall into this role that he can barely stop himself. The two of them have played this game countless times throughout the millennia, and he hates how natural it feels now. 

He keeps his head down, unwilling to have to look at the satisfaction on the Master’s face while he crawls.

He stops directly in front of the throne but before he can look up, the Master pushes his foot towards him and says, “You’ve been very talkative today, haven’t you? Why don’t we put your mouth to good use?”

“...Someone might walk in,” the Doctor mutters, turning his head to glance at the door. 

The Master simply chuckles. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

The Doctor turns back to face him, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he tries to figure out what to do. “I—” he begins to say, before shutting his mouth again. 

He could get up and make a dash for it, but he doesn’t think the Master would let him leave that easily. There’s also a part of him that wants to do as the Master says, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. He audibly swallows and pauses for a second. Then he closes his eyes, lowers his head, and presses his lips to the boot in front of him. 

The sharp taste of leather is left on his tongue but it somehow doesn’t taste like leather. It tastes like _power_ , the power the Master has, the power he’s always wanted the Master to hold over him. 

“Good boy,” the Master murmurs, and the Doctor barely manages to suppress a whimper. It’s the combination of the feeling of his mouth against the cool material of the boot and the Master’s words, and his cheeks redden with the burning humiliation of the situation. He explains the overwhelming heat that curls through him on the humiliation too, because that’s much easier than accepting that he actually wants this. 

He raises his head again, determinedly looking directly into the Master’s eyes even despite his instinct being to look _anywhere_ else but him. 

“Well?” he asks, voice sounding stronger than he feels. “I’ve done what you wanted. Now what?” 

The Master says nothing and slides his other foot towards him. 

The Doctor takes in a deep breath, face flushing even further. He doesn’t speak either, leaning down once more. It’s the same sensation all over again, even stronger this time. He quickly forgets about everything that isn’t the Master or how his boot feels on his tongue. He glances up at the Master and the sight of him watching him with half lidded eyes is enough to cause him to double his efforts, forgetting all about trying not to seem too eager. 

He pulls away slightly once he’s covered the entire area, suddenly remembering himself. He meets the Master’s eyes and the Master leans back, putting distance between them. “Okay, then. You’re free to go.”

The Doctor blinks up at him. “What?”

“You can leave,” the Master clarifies, raising an eyebrow when the Doctor goes to stand up, then hesitates, then drops his gaze as he stays exactly where he is. The Master slides his sword into his scabbard, before reaching out to take the Doctor’s chin in hand. The Doctor tries and fails to stifle a shiver and he smirks, running a gloved finger over the Doctor’s lips before nudging it inside when his mouth automatically opens. “That’s what I thought.” 

**Author's Note:**

> originally this was gonna be an unspecified Doctor with they/them pronouns but like i was writing this for months with like no motivation & then last night i was like yk what i'm gonna make it Thirteen & use he/him pronouns for him & i managed to finish it today so ig that's all i needed to do to get inspired akjsdnfsd


End file.
